


Flow As the River

by Harry1981



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Frerin Lives, Gen, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Rebirth, Reincarnated Bilbo Baggins, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Thorin Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harry1981/pseuds/Harry1981
Summary: There was a River in the Shire, which appeared the day that Bilbo Baggins was born. Hobbist were wary of the water body, but as long as it irrigated their crops, who cared?Years later, Bilbo would follow the river, across plains and over mountains, learning new things and discovering old stories, recollecting the past and looking into the future. It was his River, after all.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 39
Kudos: 79





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I See Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491697) by [obeytherandomness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obeytherandomness/pseuds/obeytherandomness). 



> Have I started a new story when I have two perfectly perfect unfinished Hobbit stories on my laptop waiting to be updated? Yes, yes I did. And if I do not control myself soon here will be some seven-eight more.  
> Ugh. Same me from my own head. These many Hobbit fanfictions at once is a bad idea. Reincarnation AUs and Time Travel AUs have my heart and there are just not enough Reincarnation stories out there. Here's my spin here, based and inspired by I See Fire by obeytherandomness, and this idea belongs to them. I love their story and god if you haven't read it go read it now!
> 
> Okay enough of my rants. Hope you enjoy the prologue!

There was a river. Rather, a rivulet, which ran the course of the Shire. It was a small thing, could hardly drown a Hobbit. But those large-feet creatures were wary of things they did not understand, and so when the rivulet appeared one day, out of the blue, none knew what to think of it.

Bilbo Baggins liked the rivulet. His mother took him to the water, standing in and saying, “Look, Bilbo, it’s nothing!”

The young faunt would laugh and clap his hands. His father would be terrified and would try and pull the young faunt back, but Bilbo was unstoppable. He jumped into the stream, the water reaching up to his neck. He threw some water on his mother, who gasped and flung some back.

Bungo Baggins huffed, watching his Took of a wife and almost Took of a son play around in the water. They were never going to be the proper Baggins of Bag End.

But truly, Bungo Baggins could not care less.

“The river appeared the day of your birth,” Belladonna Baggins spoke softly. The faunt in her arms curled around, deeper, his eyes droopy but wide open to hear the story, “Appeared on the day you came into our lives. Oh, what a day it was. Remember Bungo?”

“Yes, of course,” Bungo said with a smile, brushing the curls off his son’s face, “The night was beautiful, stars glittering across the blue blanket in the sky. The Gamgees had made their delicious pork pie, the smell wandering in our own humble home. Your mother looked divine, but tired, for someone enjoyed kicking their mother a lot.”

Bilbo giggled, hiding his face into Belladonna’s chest. Bungo smiled, looking up at his wife. They shared a soft smile, full of love and adoration.

“Then came the thunder. Out of the blue, for it was an open sky. The clouds parted, and rain began pouring down at once. Faunts ran inside their homes, fighting for cover. Then came another thunder. The children screamed. Dear Belladonna turned to me and said, ‘Dear, I think our child is ready to come’.”

“All night it rained,” Belladonna whispered Conspirare, “As it had never before. And you, my dear boy, took your sweet time to come into this world. It was finally towards the dawn of 22nd September when you finally decided to grace us with your presence! Oh, fireworks went off, the clouds ran dry. The flowers bloomed in the fields and birds chirped at the birth of Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo’s eyes slowly shut, a smile on his face. But he immediately pulled them open, blinking at Belladonna and Bungo.

“And then came the river,” Bungo said with a smile, “Overnight, with no beginning and with no end. It just ran across The Shire, from far west. Some say the sea split open at the birth of young Bilbo, another claim that your great Fairy grandmother blessed us with this water to have a better harvest. But no matter what the reason, the earth parted, and the river came tumbling down.”

“It’s my river,” Bilbo whispered, before breaking out into a yawn.

Belladonna laughed, running her hand through his curls, “yes, my dear boy, it’s your river. It will one day lead you to your destiny.”

A soft smile on his face, Bilbo pushed his thumb in his mouth and sucking on it, fell asleep.

* * *

The rivulet ran through the Old Forest, so no one even tried to guess where it went. A few dwarves who stopped on the road told the Hobbits that the river began from a lake. Nobody spoke more of it, and Hobbits did not pry. Matters were beyond their understanding. They used the river for irrigation.

It was the Baggins who found the river going all the way to Rivendell, through twists and turns beyond their own understanding. They weren't even following the stream- it was just easy to distinguish from the waterworks of Rivendell.

“How peculiar,” said Belladonna, looking at the colour difference right under her feet, “Why, this is our Bilbo’s river.”

“My river?” Bilbo pulled out his head from the crook of his father’s neck, staring down at the water body.

But unlike the many other times when he would clap and be happy, Bilbo just sighed, lying down back into Bungo’s arms.

Belladonna sighed, turning to the Lord of Rivendell, “he isn’t like this, Lord Elrond. I don’t know what has come over him.”

The Elf looked around at the young faunt, with his honey-brown curls and tired face. He frowned as if trying to piece a part of the puzzle.

“How long have the nightmares plague him, Miss Belladonna?” he asked.

Belladonna picked up her skirt and stepped out of the rivulet, looking at her son in Bungo’s arms, “A little over a year now. We did not think it important at once, you see. Children have a wild imagination, and sometimes they turn dark.”

Sighing, she looked up at Elrond, “But this is something else entirely. He talks in a language not known to me, and he sounds pained. Almost as if he is recounting memories.”

Elrond nodded, leading the Hobbits to a bench. Once they were settled down, Elrond went down on his knees.

Bilbo curiously peered over his father’s shoulder. The Elf was big, much bigger than Bilbo had ever seen. His smile was divine, soft like his mother and calming like his father.

“Bilbo,” he said slowly, “Would you like to come into my arms?”

Bilbo wanted to say no, but the stretched arms were an invitation he could not refuse. Wiggling out of his father’s arms, Bilbo settled down into the Elf’s arms. For the first time in days, he felt truly peaceful.

Elrond, however, grew troubles. His foresight gave him much, but not enough. The mind of the boy was jumbled, and no matter how he tried, all he could see were horrible snippets of stories he had just heard.

It was no wonder the young faunt was so distressed.

“Master Elrond?” Belladonna asked softly.

The Lord of Rivendell looked at the two worried Hobbits.

“I am afraid, my dear Belladonna, your son is one fo a kind.”

“What does that mean?” asked bungo, clearly troubled.

Elrond stood up, the young faunt snoring softly in his arms. Bungo and belladonna stood too, worried.

“He is what we call twice-Born,” said Elrond, “Souls, who do not find peace after their death. Bilbo here has a soul that is at unrest.”

“So a spirit has overtaken his mind?”

Elrond shook his head, “You misunderstand me, master Baggins. This soul in Bilbo’s own. He has already lived a life, a long life, filled with hardships and cruelty, and worries and thoughts. Something that his body is not able to keep up with.”

Belladonna gaspe,d “Our son is reborn?”

Elrond nodded, “Yes, yes he is. From what I see, he was once a dwarf.”

“A dwarf?” Bungo asked, scandalized at the very idea.

“is there anything we can do?” belladonna asked softly, “to ease his pain.”

Sighing, Elrond said, “I can suppress his memories, till the time comes when he is ready to truly get them back.”

The parents’ face showed their happiness, for Lord Elrond raised his hand in warning, “But he is born a Hobbit and it could be possible that never would come a day when he would be ready to face the memories of the life he has lost.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?”

“I am afraid not, Master Baggins,” said Elrond, “for there is a reason that he is born again. Stopping him from doing what his soul intends to do could yield terrible results. It would ease his pain momentarily, but in a long run it would harm him.”

Belladonna gasped, looking at her young son and the great Elf Lord. This was not a choice she could make easily, not without thinking it over.

“What if we tell him about the memories? Would that help?”

Elrond nodded, “possibly.”

In the end, there was no choice.

* * *

Bilbo Baggins grew up on tales of adventure, of bravery, of nobility, of courage. He grew up learning of Dwarves, of Elves and of Men. When the faunts in the Shire would run after each other, Bilbo would be found sitting under a tree making battle plans.

It was not an active decision from either of his parents’ part. It was something that came naturally to young Bilbo. Mischievous, he was. Tarts stolen from window sills could always be blamed on the young faunt, but unless the crumbs were found on him you could not prove it was him.

He could read the language of Men, of Elves, and of Dwarves. The last drew many eyebrows, but the boy just shrugged and said he always knew what it was.

Bilbo grew up on the story that he was made for a greater purpose. That his destiny was much grander than anybody would have him believe. And Bilbo believed that- all through his childhood and his tween years.

Up till the day, he lost both his parents.

It was then that the young adventurous faunt changed. He changed into a sombre adult. A respectable Hobbit of Bag End.

“It is what your father would have wanted,” his relatives told him.

Bilbo did not believe that one bit, but being respectable brought him less pain. And so that is what he did.

And that was precisely how Bilbo Baggins found himself sitting outside his home, Bag End, smoking a pipe, his most immediate worries being that of when to get the rents and what to eat for dinner.

Not knowing, the changes in his past would catch up to him very soon.


	2. When the Dwarves come knocking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys actually liked it? OMG! I am so excited now! yayayay, can't want to see what you all think of this now!
> 
> Italicized are dreams/nightmares/memories which can be muddled and over which Bilbo has no control. Just saying.

Years later, Bilbo Baggins would blame the Grey Wizard for all but kidnapping him and whisking him away on an adventure. He was a respectable Hobbit, of Bag End. He did not go on adventures.

It had started on a rather nice morning for Bilbo. The sun was shining brightly overhead, casting calming rays over his cheeks. The green grass was soft under Bilbo’s feet. His mouth was puffing out smoke.

Then, a large shadow fell over him. It blocked the perfectly good sun’s warmth and made Bilbo Baggins just a little grumpy. So he cracked open his eyes, annoyed.

In front of him stood an old man, wearing grey robes, a pointy hat that was certainly not in fashion for men or even Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. In his hand was a staff, which was certainly not what men ever kept with themselves.

“Good morning,” Bilbo said sincerely.

“What do you mean?” the old man said, “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is morning to be good on?”

“All of them at once,” said Bilbo, rather taken aback at the words of the old man. He looked at him oddly, like perhaps Bilbo hid a secret. Not that he actually did, but the man’s gaze was quite...well, improper. “Can I help you?”

“That remains to be seen,” the man said gravely, “I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

Now, no proper Hobbit went on adventures. They were nasty things, made one late for dinner. But then, no Hobbit was a twice-born who was a dwarf in his past life.

Not that Bilbo actually remembered it. His parents told him stories, but they weren’t a part of his memories If they were, it was at the very end of his unconsciousness, and Bilbo was not ready to pull on those threads yet.

So Bilbo said no. His adventurous side died with his parents, and he would like it to be left at that.

The old man found his insistence of not having an adventure amusing. Bilbo never really understood it as Gandalf, as the man now introduced himself and as Bilbo remembered him, insisted that he was the right Hobbit and disappeared as he had come.

All that Bilbo knew next was that his door was being scratched and mind you, he was not terribly pleased.

Not pleased at all.

Shaking his head at the wizard’s words, Bilbo rather busied himself for the rest of the day. And what better way to do that than to go buy groceries for the next week?

Looking back, Bilbo was glad he did what he did.

For it was late at night, and after having stashed his food in the pantries, Bilbo had made himself a very nice supper. Fish and veggies.

Just like he liked it.

But of course, the doorbell rang at that very moment. He was not expecting anyone. Not at that moment anyway. Rather reluctantly, Bilbo left his supper and walked up to the door to see who would bother him at that time of the night.

Bilbo opened the door and he opened it well, when he came face to face with...a bald dwarf.

“Dwalin, at your service.”

Bilbo blinked. Hurriedly securing his robe, he bowed. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours.”

The man entered and Bilbo couldn’t help but ask, “Do we know each other?”

The Dwarf looked at him, not for even a second, before declaring, “No.”

And indeed, Bilbo had no reason to know the dwarf either, now did he? He had never met any dwarves. He had never seen any dwarves, except the ones in the Green dragon sometimes and they were never that scary.

Bilbo looked at the retreating figure of the dwarf. There was something quite familiar about the dwarf, something that was bugging Bilbo. But he couldn’t pinpoint it.

Life did not get any better for Bilbo that night.

The second dwarf to enter his home was a dwarf named Balin. His hair was white, and he had the calmest smile Bilbo had ever seen.

“Am I late?” he asked, looking deep into Bilbo’s eyes.

Bilbo had no answer to that question.

Soon, he and the bald dwarf were knocking heads and judging his pantry. A small part of him was confused, another part curious, but a large part irritated.

“I am sorry,” Bilbo said, making sure the dwarves understood exactly where he stood.

The older dwarf, Balin, with a white beard, turned to him and said, “Apology accepted.”

The next Bilbo opened the door of his Smial, he felt like he could kill someone. But the faces on the other side of the door made him stop short.

“Fili,”

“And Kili,”

“At Your service.”

“You must be Mr Boggins!”

Next came an avalanche of Dwarves and an amused wizard. Bilbo’s pantry was destroyed. The food was diminished. The dwarves tossed his food around and laughed at his face when they managed to clean it all up.

And then, he came.

There are moments in one’s life when everything stops making sense. When the next moment truly feels unpredictable. Whatever Bilbo was expecting, after a group of Dwarrows had invaded his home, it was not this.

When Gandalf opened the door, Bilbo’s heart stopped beating. It was a dwarf, bigger than all the others. His hair was jet black, some silver wisps adoring along and two braids falling on either side of his face. His beard was cut short. His nose was sharp, and the small smile on his face felt truly...unreal.

Bilbo knew him.

Yet he had never met the dwarf before in his life.

“Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice,” he said, all while walking inside. He managed to capture every single attention in the room, and rightfully so. There was something regal in the way he spoke, “I wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.”

“Mark?” Now that was what finally brought Bilbo’s attention to the present, “there’s no mark on that door.”

“There is a mark,” said Gandalf, “I put it there myself.”

And how could Bilbo forget the scratching?

“Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our Company: Thorin Oakenshield.”

When their eyes finally met, Bilbo felt all breath escape him. There was something amiss...something very wrong. And he couldn’t pinpoint it.

The leader clearly felt it too, for his eyes widened. But the very next moment, they diminished, all humour escaping from his face. He proceeded to insult Bilbo and show his uselessness to his Company.

The second half of the night was no better, for there were talks of a lost kingdom, of political alliance and of a dragon. It took every fibre in his body to stop himself from blurting out something stupid. Bilbo did not even know what he wanted to speak out at the moment, but he did. The things they talked about- Bilbo knew something. The names were familiar, everything was familiar and yet, so unknown.

It wasn’t just the description of dragon which made him faint, but the memory that bombarded him as the hat-wearing dwarf explained it. He had seen nightmares with closed eyes before, but for the first time in his life, when in full consciousness, the nightmare, or rather the memory bombarded him completely.

* * *

“ _Fire!”_

_Bilbo looked up, unaware of where he was. But he was not in control of his body and acutely aware of it._

“ _Dragon!”_

_The panic he felt was unbelievable. His legs led him out of an office, his office, presumably. They took him on a different route to where everyone was going. He continued to push through dwarves, with their big beards and large hair. He continued to run, and people parted until he ran into a dwarf far older than him._

“ _Where are you going?” he demanded, his red hair shining with sweat._

“ _Adad,” Bilbo whimpered, and that wasn’t his voice._

_The Dwarf grabbed him and pulled him away, an axe in his other hand, “Have you lost your mind? Get out of here, you fool!”_

“ _is it true then?” he asked, “there is, a dragon?”_

_The dwarf did not answer that, “I will lead whoever I find to safety, all right? You get out. Find the nearest exit, and run!”_

“ _But Nadad!”_

_The dwarf merely pulled him into a forehead knock, much like what he had seen Dwlain and Balin do, only gentler._

“ _Take care, nadadith. I will see you again.”_

“ _Make sure that you do.”_

_The next moment, he was gone. As Bilbo looked around, a gush of fire came running to him from across the other side. No matter how hard he ran, the fire caught up to him, burning him, the dwarf he called Nadad and everyone else down._

* * *

In the end, the decision wasn’t hard. Adventures were for Tooks, for Hobbits like Belladonna who enjoyed things. For Bilbo Baggins, the adventure was a memory he did not want to revisit.

He told Gandalf he couldn’t. He let the dwarves sleep in his home that night, and heard their soulful song of a home lost. It was heart wrenching, but not enough to make him leave everything and go.

So he pulled the blanket over his head and closed his eyes, resolute to sleep.

Unfortunately, he opened his eyes.

Blinking, Bilbo realized he was outside. Not in his home anymore. In fact, if he was watching it correctly, he was beside his river.

His river. Bilbo smiled softly. It had been a long time since he had visited the river. He should do it, they always brought back good memories for him. Memories of his parents, of battle plans. Of adventures.

Which were good only for memories.

Bilbo’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by singing. It was a low voice, a deep hum. He thought he recognized the voice, and the song. Curious, Bilbo followed the length of the river to where the song was coming from.

Just as he turned at the bend, a garden like nothing before came into Bilbo’s view. The ceiling was made of glass, the walls of stone, but the grass under his feet was very real. There were flowers- roses, daffodils, bluebells- anything and everything Bilbo could see. Creepers crawling over a statue of a dwarf, and a stone bench in a corner.

There was a dwarf sitting on that bench, and it was he who sang. It was soulful, and sad, and something pulled deep into Bilbo's heart. It sounded like a lament, yet a love song.

Bilbo slowly took a step forward, shocked to see his river reach out to the dwarf and disappear under the bench where the dwarf sat.

“Hello?”

The dwarf stopped singing. Bilbo wished he hadn't spoken up. It was only teh most beuatiful thing he had ever heard.

The Dwarf slowly raised his head. He was frowning, clearly unhappy at teh disturbance. Once he seemed to realize where he was, he looked at Bilbo.

It was Thorin Oakenshield.

“It’s you,” he sounded most displeased, “I was hoping it was a lie.”

“I am sorry?” Bilbo blinked, “I, well, where exactly am I?”

Thorin frowned, “You mean you do not know?”

“No?” and he felt utterly foolish admitting it to himself.

“This is my dream.”

Bilbo gaped, “You mean to say, I am in your dream? And that you are actually aware of it?”

Thorin leaned back, properly looking at Bilbo, “You really don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” he asked, irritated. The Dwarf had already insulted and belittled him, and the last thing he needed was to haunt the same person in his dreams.

The dwarf just hummed. Bilbo continued to wait for an answer, but none came. Instead, Thorin stood up from the bench, straightening out his coat and walking up to Bilbo. Being so close, again, was quite weird for the Hobbit.

“Here’s what’s going to happen Master Baggins,” Thorin said icily, “You have already decided that you will not aid us in our quest. So you shall not. You will never appear in my dreams again, for once the distance between us lengthen there will be no need for such. You and I are both going to forget this encounter and move on with our lives.”

Despite himself, Bilbo found himself nodding. Thorin gave him a curt nod, and continued, “Now, you see the door there? I am going to go inside and you are not going to follow me. This garden is yours to move, or you can go wherever you want. Goodbye.”

And just like that, Bilbo Baggins was once again left alone.

As mentioned earlier, years later Bilbo Baggins would blame the wizard for whisking him away on an adventure. But it wasn’t Gandalf who was responsible for Bilbo Baggins packing up a half assessed travel bag and signing the contract to be a burglar, running across the fields and handing over the contract to Balin the next morning- it was Thorin Oakenshield.

  
  



	3. First Night with them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah! Thank you very much for all the feedback! After this, hopefully, expect a weekly update. Monday Update, specifically. Hope you like it!
> 
> This story will mostly be Bilbo's stream of thoughts, so please pardon my unfinished and disjoint senteneces, if any. Enjoy :)

Handkerchiefs and privacy were two things that Bilbo Baggins loved, but on a journey with some thirteen dwarves and a wizard, they were impossible to find. Instead, what he did get was a pair of the aching bottom from riding on the pony, a clean yet rough cloth to use as a handkerchief, three to four people who actually believed in him and a general grouchiness.

When evening finally fell, the Company found themselves on the side of the road. Bilbo knew that just an hour away they would get to a good Hobbit settlement and find warm food and comforting bed, but before he could even propose the idea, Thorin Oakenshield barked that everyone was to make camp there.

Bilbo grudgingly pulled down his pack and was caressing his waistcoat when the Dwarf King appeared right in front of him. Bilbo looked up at him from the corner of his eyes, his hands busy on the bag.

“What are you doing here?” demanded the dwarf.

Bilbo finally looked at him, eyes innocent, “Pulling down the bag. Do you need me elsewhere?”

Thorin all but growled, “You know what I mean, halfling. Why did you sign the contract?”

Before Bilbo could respond, Gandalf swooped in with a smile, “Ah, Thorin, if you would be kind enough to walk with me. There is a Hobbit settlement not far from here, and I think it would be wise to stock up a bit more.”

Gandalf managed to steer Thorin away from Bilbo completely. But even then, Bilbo could feel Thorin’s glare on his back. Given, their talk in the- dream? Memory?- whatever it was, it wasn’t very two way, but now there was no need to be so hostile.

“Ignore him,” came the voice of the Dwarf who wore a weird hat, “Come sit with us, Master Baggins.”

Very glad to be included, Bilbo skipped to where the weird hat dwarf- Bafut? Bifur?- sat with his the huge dwarf, the dwarf who essentially wore his hair in a star and the dwarf who had an axe embedded in his head. It was a weird group, and Bilbo was at loss.

“I am sorry, but last night was a mess, and I am afraid I did not quite get everyone’s names.”

Bilbo had expected some sort of anger, or even confusion, but was instead met with booming laughter. The Star-haired one spoke up from his pipe, “Don’t you worry, Master Baggins. I am Dori, this is my friend Sogur, that’s his son Gorur, and this is Rurur.”

As the Dwarves began to laugh, Bilbo blinked in confusion. Those were not the names he remembered. At all.

But oh, the night before was such confusion, who was to say he missed a few things?

“Master Sogur?”

The dwarves burst out in laughter, and Bilbo looked at them in even more confusion. By their excitement, it was clear that Bilbo had missed something. Definitely.

“Oh, stop harassing Poor Master Baggins!”

Bilbo turned to find one of the younger dwarf, the only one who had asked him about his crockery and was ever so polite. He sat down beside Bilbo and gave him a kind smile, “Ignore them. They like making fun of everyone and everything.”

“Aw _Nadad,”_ the star-shaped hair dwarf pouted, “You mess up all the fun!”

The young dwarf just huffed and turned to Bilbo with a smile, “My name is Ori and that is my brother Nori. The one wearing the hat is Bofur, this one here is Bombur and this is Bifur.”

Bilbo felt sort of anger bubbling up at being misled, but he was new in the group. Putting up a brave front, Bilbo smiled and nodded in greeting, who everyone responded with their own nod, while Bifur, the axe headed one, merely grunted.

“I must say, Master Baggins,” Ori said excitedly, “I noticed quite a book collection at your home. Are you a scribe too?”

“A scribe- oh, no no,” Bilbo let out a laugh, “I am just an avid reader. Tales from far away lands are quite enjoyful, and the Elves have quite some woeful tales.”

“You read Elvish?” Ori asked, awed.

Bilbo nodded, “Oh, yes. Lord Elrond taught me himself, you know.”

“Who’s Lord Elrond?” Bofur asked in a stage whisper.

Nori shrugged, “Most be another Halfling at the library.”

“Excuse me,” Bilbo spluttered, “Lord Elrond is the gracious host at the Last Homely Home of the West, Rivendell. He is no common mortal.”

“Who cares for the tree shaggers?” Nori asked playfully, leaving Bilbo red in the face, “they are all the same, those pointy-eared bastards.”

“Nori!” Ori said, aghast, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” Nori shrugged, “And anyway, since when are you so interested in Elves? I do not remember you being so into those huge people.”

“Since you were thrown in the cell last to last time,” Ori huffed, crossing his arms, “How long have you even spent at home to know what I like?”

Nori pouted, “Now don’t be like that, laddie- Did I not buy you a good set of quills for all the time I missed?”

“More like stole.”

Bilbo felt like hyperventilating. These were...there were criminals in the Company. Oh dear, Gandalf had said nothing of that sort. He was travelling with criminals, and pranksters and whatnot. It was truly-

“Master Baggins?”

Breaking out of his thoughts, Bilbo looked around to see the huge dwarf leaning to him with a smile.

“Yes, Master?”

“Bombur,” he supplied happily, “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality last night. I do not think anyone mentioned, but your bed was quite comfortable.”

“Ah, well, thank you very much, Master Bombur,” Bilbo said, almost flushing under embarrassment. He could have done so much more if he knew that he was expecting guests.

Bombur smiled giddily, “I also wanted to thank you for the food. It had been such a long time since I have been full, and with on the road...well, things you do, aye?”

Unable to do anything else, Bilbo nodded. He did not even think...did the Dwarves not get enough to eat? Was there a lack of food at their home? Looking at the Dwarves, he could tell that their garb was more practical and cheap rather than flashy and beautiful. Based on the stories he had read of Dwarves, and from little he had learnt, Dwarves were proud creatures, and would never wear anything less than expected. To see them in simple clothing...

What was the story there anyway?

* * *

Thorin and Gandalf returned carrying loads of food packets, resulting in a heavy dinner for all. The youngest pair of brother, who Bilbo after lengthy conversations with Ori knew as the Princes, were dancing and singing, keeping the spirits of the Company high.

When bedrolls were spread out, Bilbo was at loss. Ori was pulled away by his eldest brother, Dori, and the others all slept too close to Bilbo’s liking. The farthest away slept the leader, and Bilbo was in no mood to actually be in his close vicinity.

Eventually, he found himself laying down next to who he thought must be the oldest dwarf in the group- Balin. He smiled gently when Bilbo pulled over the bedroll, and except a quiet goodnight, said nothing more.

Bilbo decided he liked that dwarf.

Sleep did not come eventually, and Bilbo found his mind wandering. Dwain had taken the first watch, along with the red-headed dwarf. The Princes were busy whispering, and every once in a while someone shut them up. The other dwarves snored- thankfully, not Balin- and it was quite a merry gathering.

Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder whatever got the group together. A quest to reclaim the homeland, yes, but what else? He could not quite understand why such diverse people would mix together to come on a quest. Money? Well, yes that could be possible.

His eyes wandered off to the back of the King, who seemed alert even in his sleep. It was in a dream that Bilbo had seen him, and he was sure of that. But he had never heard of being conscious in dreams. Perhaps it was something that dwarves did.

But how could he walk in on someone else’s dreams? Was it dwarf’s magic, or perhaps a coincidence? Maybe it was Gandalf. The old wizard sure liked to create trouble. But why would he...

* * *

_Bilbo found himself in the centre of a marketplace. There were people shouting for wares all around. Dwarves, Bilbo realized. Looking down, Bilbo realized he was wearing the garb of a dwarf as well. When he touched his face, he realized he had a beard. Quite full too, if Bilbo was being honest. It was copper, and there were gold beads inlaid in them. It wasn't quite as large as teh red headed one in the group he was travelling with; more liek Ori's.  
_

_His legs automatically began to carry him over to a food stall, where cuisine from the nearby city of men was being sold._

“ _Hullo master Dwarf!” the vendor greeted happily, “What can I tempt you with today?”_

“ _Sweets!” Bilbo said, and smiled, “I would like to buy some sweets. What do you have?”_

_The man pulled out an assortment of candies, colourful. Bilbo looked at them, popping a few in his mouth. Some were sour, some were rather sweet, some a mixture of two. As he got the orange candies wrapped, the man asked, “For yourself?”_

“ _More like a sister,” Bilbo replied happily, “She would have my head if I visit her without anything.”_

_Exchanging a few pleasantries, Bilbo walked around and let his legs take route. Everything was made of greenstone, shimmering under the light of the torches. Railings were inlaid with gold and jewels, and no matter where he went, there was the sound of hammer following him._

_The corridors merged into one, and suddenly, Bilbo found himself standing outside richly carved wooden doors. The pattern was something that Bilbo knew, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Before he knew, he was pushing open the doors._

_It was a child’s playroom, littered with toys and a round bed. There were no windows, but none were needed as crystals spared light all over the room. In the corner was a mat, where sat a young girl. Her dark hair was braided, and she played happily with two figurines._

_As Bilbo began to walk forward, her head whipped around, and a great smile spread on her face. She threw away her toys and ran to Bilbo, shouting “nadad”._

_Bilbo pulled her into his arms and grinned. It had been far too long, he realized in a back part of his brain._

_She pulled back, looking at him with her wide brown eyes, “Did you get me a gift?”_

_Bilbo laughed, “yes, I did. Here.”_

_As he passed the packet of sweets, she squealed and pressed a kiss on Bilbo’s cheek, before hugging him again. Bilbo laughed and looked around. His eyes fell on the doorway, where someone stood._

* * *

Bilbo opened his eyes slowly. Usually, dreams of a dwarvish life were accompanied by terror, but the memory that followed him was quite lovely. He smiled, thinking of the little girl. A sister, to spoil with toys and sweets. That would surely have been nice.

The flow of the water caught Bilbo’s attention, and  he sat up. He was back at the dream place. He got up and followed the stream, and very much like the last day, found himself in the garden. 

Except, there was no Thorin Oakenshield there. The door on the side of the wall was closed, and if Bilbo thought clearly, he could imagine Thorin being on the other side of the wall. Sighing, Bilbo sat down on the bench where his river came to an end. He gently dipped his finger in the stream and giggled.

If Thorin Oakenshield was going to behave like a child and ignore him, Bilbo could be stubborn too. Huffing, Bilbo crossed his arms and dipped his feet in the water. Closing his eyes, Bilbo began to hum whichever tune gathered his attention.

And so passed the night. At one point, Bilbo heard the door open ever so slightly, but he paid no attention to it and contiued to sing, letting the peace wash over him.

That was how Bilbo woke up teh next day- refreshed and in a good mood. Despite having to face journeying on the pony the coming few days, Bilbo felt like he could do it.

And if he noticed Thorin Oakenshield smiling just a tad bit and looking fresher, well, who was he to hear and tell?


	4. The Battle of Azanulbizar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say Weekly Updates? Haha, I meant erratic updates.
> 
> In my defence, When the Sun Rises is *this* close to coming to an end and I really wanna update it every other day. Since I am updating this today, that will get a new chapter tomorrow. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter. I can't write PTSD for shit, but attacks I have tried. Hope you like it.

It was on some oh-I-have-no-idea-which-day-it-is-anymore, that Bilbo noticed the stream following them. He had been too preoccupied with settling in before, trying to talk to Dwarrows, and just figure out his place in the Company. After years of studying strategies and battle plans, and attending various Hobbit parties, Bilbo was quite fluent in reading people.

The conclusion he had come to, thus, was that he was the outsider, and it was highly unlikely that he would ever become the insider. The Company was made of a close-knit group of Dwarrows, and every dwarf seemed to have some kind of a personal connection with Thorin Oakenshield.

There was also a divide- not very noticeable, but after spending days with them, it was clearer. At first, there were the royals, or pseudo-royals, which included the King, his nephews, Dwalin, Balin, Gloin and Oin. They were the ones tasked with all the big things- security, finance, planning out the whole thing and advising. From what Bilbo had heard and caught over the course of their journey, they were all related- cousins or something, all tracing the line to Durin.

Now Bilbo might be a Hobbit, but he also was more. He knew the stories of Durin. He spent a lot of time in his tween years getting Dwarves drunk and hearing stories of Durin the Deathless. So yes, he understood the weight of that name.

The other part of the group, the one he tended to stick with, were mostly commoners. Old soldiers, shop owners, junior scribe, and a thief, apparently. They weren’t related to Royalty, and as he had come to know through an excited Ori, they were not even from Erebor, the kingdom everyone was trying to recover. The Ri brothers and Ur cousins were there solely because they were loyal to the King.

“He is a great King,” Dori told him one night. Bilbo was settled between Ori and Dori as the older dwarf continued, “He is kind, and always listening to everyone’s complaints. We had to join him. There was no other way.”

It was very different from the dwarf who would always bolt himself inside in their shared dreams, but oh well.

There was also the matter of their shared dreamscapes. Bilbo had never heard of such a thing, not even in stories. Once or twice, there were talks of Elves being able to look into others’ mind and Bilbo knew that it was possible, but sharing a dream, that too consciously? Unheard of.

He was far too afraid to actually ask about it around because they were all a rather secretive bunch. Despite their laughter and loud behaviour, the Dwarves hardly talked about anything substantial. If they had to talk about that, they would speak Khudzul, which Bilbo did not truly understand.

So was the tale of Bilbo, and it was quite sad at the moment. He was an outsider to a Company he had essentially signed his service to. Thus, when they stopped for lunch, and Bilbo found his river, he was ecstatic.

“You river?” Bofur asked dubiously, looking at the stream, “What, like it's named River Bilbo?”

“It looks good for bathing,” said Nori, scratching his head, “Say, Master Baggins, do we have the permission?”

Annoyed at their behaviour, Bilbo huffed, “I am not the owner of this river. You can do as you wish to. Why did I even bother saying a thing!”

The two Dwarves laughed as Bilbo stalked away to where everybody had settled down for lunch. Ori smiled guiltily at him as if apologizing for his brother’s behaviour.

“They like to joke around,” said Ori, passing him the bowl of stew, “Don’t mind. Be glad the Princes have not yet joined them.”

“Joined them?” Bilbo asked pointedly.

Ori nodded, “They are serious about this because it's their home. But prince Fili and Kili are notorious in Ered Luin for their pranks. And if sometimes they join hands with Bofur and Nori, it almost feels like a storm.”

Bilbo gulped. He could imagine it somehow. While he had not had enough conversation with the princes, they looked young. And mischievous. Paired up with a pair of older pranksters could not end up well for anyone.

“Oh, Master Baggins!”

It was Dori, sitting on Bilbo’s other side. The dwarf was quite excited to meet Bilbo. He wasn’t sure why at first, but as time passed Bilbo realized it was due to his extensive knowledge of tea. Dori was a good dwarf if a bit overbearing and protective.

“Oh, hello Master Dori,” Bilbo said pleasantly.

“Nori and Bofur are going on about the river down there being River bilbo,” Dori said, clearly unimpressed, “I am sorry if they have been bothering you.”

Bilbo groaned, earning looks from everyone around. He wasn’t sure if it was because of what Dori said or because of his groan, but he was the centre of attention yet again.

“It’s definitely my fault,” Bilbo muttered, “I told them it was my river and-”

“Your river?” came Kili’s voice from afar. Bilbo turned to see the brothers looking at him curiously, “Whatever do you mean by it’s your river?”

There were curious faces all around, even Bifur who only seemed to have one expression always. Only the King looked disinterested. Huffing, Bilbo looked away to the boys and said, “Well, the river appeared in the Shire the day I was born. It was quite sudden, you might understand. My mother said it was a blessing like I was. So it has officially become my river.”

The grunt from the King brought everyone's attention to him, “Hundreds of Rivers and streams flow through these areas. Having a river suddenly appear is not as magical as you might think.”

Scrunching up his nose, Bilbo said, “Well, it might not be, but a whole river appearing out of nowhere, which goes as far as Rivendell and even beyond? I say it’s magic.”

“Rivendell?” Balin asked curiously, and everyone looked weirdly at Bilbo, “You have been to Rivendell, laddie?”

Bilbo spluttered, a bit confused at the sudden interest, “I, well, yes. My mother was good friends with Lord Elrond, and I spent a few of my early years with the Elves.”

“Bloody tree-shaggers, up to no good,” muttered Gloin, before looking suspiciously at Bilbo, “Are ya working for them?”

“Working-What?” Bilbo shook his head in annoyance, “I am not working for anyone, Master Gloin.”

The red-headed dwarf hummed and leaned back, but continued to look at Bilbo suspiciously. Suffice to say, Lunch was an even more awkward affair after that.

They did use the stream for cleaning their utensils and freshening up, and after that, they moved on. All through the journey, Bofur and Nori continued to tease Bilbo about rivers, trees, Elves and what not. They even went as far as to wonder if Bilbo was a half-Elf, which earned Nori a smack from Dori. Bilbo sent a grateful look to the older Dwarf before moving on.

By the time they finally reached the top of the hill, it was late. Everyone quickly ate whatever Bombur had made and went off to sleep. It was no different from any other day, except for one small detail.

Gloin did not take the first watch.

Usually, the red-headed dwarf was the first one to volunteer and by the time he came back, Bilbo was fast asleep. However, that day Fili and Kili got the first watch, and Gloin, suspicious of Bilbo apparently, decided to sleep just beside him.

He fell asleep far too fast.

His snores were louder than the sounds made by cows and pigs, and definitely more distracting. No matter which way Bilbo turned, Gloin’s snores haunted him. Was this his punishment for telling the Dwarrows that he knew Elves?

Cranky, Bilbo got up and stretched. Gandalf continued to puff his pipe, as Bilbo made his way to the ponies.

Granted, he was not fond of riding, but it was no fault of the poor animals. His pony, Myrtle, was actually a kind soul. She always waited patiently for Bilbo to get on her and walked slowly, probably trying to ease him in. If there was anyone in the company who actually liked Bilbo, it had to be Myrtle.

Pulling out an apple which he had picked earlier the day, Bilbo snuck it to Myrtle.

“It would be our secret,” he said with a smile, running a hand over Myrtle’s mane. He could feel the gaze of Thorin Oakenshield on his back, but he ignored it. The dwarf was half asleep anyway.

A howl broke Bilbo’s otherwise all right night. The howl of wolves, not sounding as far as he would like it to be.

Bilbo immediately jumped, looking around in worry, “What, what is that?”

It was Kili who answered, “orcs.”

“orcs?”

“Throat cutters,” Fili said, “there’ll be dozens of them out there,”

Whatever the brothers said next were lost to Bilbo as flashes assaulted him. Flashes of a battle.

* * *

_He was far away from the campsite just then. Surrounded by orcs and Dwarves alike. An orc attacked him, and Bilbo could only watch in horror as he moved his arm in defence. The stink of sweat and blood hung in the air, cries of pain echoing in the sky. For as far as Bilbo could see, there was the only battle of orcs and dwarves. There was no victory, no calm. Only murder._

* * *

“You think that’s funny?”

The Dwarf King’s voice echoed in Bilbo’s head, and as he turned, he could see Thorin just at a distance, fighting an arc himself. But then he turned to see someone beyond Bilbo, and said, quite loudly, “You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?”

And just like that, Bilbo was standing back in the camp, surrounded by sleeping Dwarrows. There were no orcs, no stench, no cries. It was peaceful, not like whatever Bilbo had seen just a moment ago.

Fili and Kili looked ashamed, and a part of Bilbo was supplying the fact that he had just been pranked. But his head was swimming with far too many details as Thorin snapped, “You know nothing of the world.”

Bilbo blinked, looking around, trying to find a grounding. Anything. Balin’s voice was that grounding.

“Don’t mind him, laddie,” he said softly, “Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs.”

Fili huffed, looking down at his boots, “We know that. Anyone over the age of sixty knows that.”

Kili reached out for his brother, and the two shared a soft sad smile as Balin sighed, “You talk of recent wounds, but Thorin’s anger goes far back. After the Dragon had taken the Lonely mountain King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Kingdom fo Moria.”

Bilbo blinked, as another memory assaulted him.

* * *

_He stood in the middle fo camps, surrounded by Dwarrows. A dwarf on his side said, “This is madness. King Thror cannot expect us to actually go with this plan!”_

“ _He is the King,” said a heavy voice, and Bilbo could not quite place the speaker, “His words are the law.”_

* * *

“But our enemy had gotten there first. Moria had been taken by legion fo orcs, led by the vilest of all their race: Azog, the Defiler.”

* * *

_It was the largest Orc Bilbo had ever seen. Standing as taller than Dwarves, looking almost like a short man. Scars littered his face, and the snarl he showed could scare the bravest of Dwarves. He was one of the orcs from Gundabad- and he was fighting with King Thror._

* * *

“He began by beheading the King.”

* * *

_There was a scream, and when Bilbo turned, blocking the Orc effectively trying to kill him, he saw King Thror’s head rolling down the battlefield. He screamed, and so did many. In that one moment, the orc struck, and a searing pain rushed through his arms._

* * *

“Thrain, Thorin’s father, was driven mad by grief.”

* * *

“ _King Thrain is moving to the gate! Come on!”_

_He was vaguely aware of the shout, buried under the body of an orc. King Thrain. Thrain was King now. The Great King Thror was dead._

_Bilbo was crying, and he pushed the filth from over him. But the pain in his right hand made him weak. Once the scum was off him, Bilbo turned, only to see his right hand broken and twisted._

* * *

“We were leaderless. Defeat and Death were upon us. That is when I saw him. A young dwarf prince facing down the pale Orc.”

* * *

_His left hand aided him just enough. Tying up his arm with the remnants of a dead soldier’s shirt, Bilbo moved his left arm as to his advantage. It was weak, after years of not working, yet it got the work done. He thrashed wildly, killing one Orc after another._

_As he slashed the head off another Orc, his eyes landed on a group of Dwarrows coming together. Leading them was the Crown Prince Thorin, looking as much a King as Thror was at his best._

* * *

“Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. And our enemy had been defeated.”

Bilbo’s eyes watered. His head was spinning, everything around him morphing into one. At one moment there stood the Company, all solemn-faced. The other, there was Bifur on the battlefield as an orc hit him with a small axe.

Dwalin stood solemn-faced in the corner, and the other second he was bloodied, a mohawk covering his head. He was shouting, fighting with the orcs.

Balin, calm and poised, telling a tale. The next, his hair was darker, immeasurable pain and grief lingering in his eyes as he looked down the body of an older dwarf.

The past and present mixed, and the breath began to leave Bilbo’s body. The world was turning, and with the world turned Bilbo. His eyes closed, and Bilbo let himself fall on the hard ground.

* * *

Blood.

Fire.

Orcs.

Dragon.

Pain.

Cries.

Smack.

“Baggins.”

Thwack.

Drip.

Roar.

“Bilbo.”

Fall.

Death.

“Master Baggins, I need you to focus on my voice.”

Too much.

Too little.

His hand hurt.

There was blood.

There was no blood.

It hurt.

His face.

His head.

“Breathe in.”

A gush of fresh air.

“Breath out.”

Life leaving him.

Bilbo blinked. His heart was beating erratically. His mouth was wide open, forehead covered in sweat.

“That’s it.”

There was a hand on his shoulder. There was a dwarf in front of him.

“Master Thorin?”

“Breathe in,” he said sternly.

Bilbo nodded, before taking in a deep breath. He followed the movement of the dwarf in front of him. Breathing in, breathing out.

Slowly, he began to see clearly. He could feel the grass below his feet. He could hear the river rushing beside him. Bilbo realized he was in the dreamscape.

He could not remember how he came to the place.

Once the conscious thoughts came back, Thorin pulled back his hand. Bilbo missed the weight immediately- it was grounding him. Now, it was lost.

Shaking his head, Bilbo patted his cheeks. It had been years since he had such an adverse reaction to a story like that. Last was ages ago when he had dreamt of the dragon. A mere tale of a battle should not have scared him so.

Bilbo looked up at Thorin, ready to apologize. Before he could say a word though, Thorin let out a grunt.

“If this is how you react to a story of war, Master Baggins, perhaps this quest is not for you after all,” he said pointedly, “We will face many dangers in days to come.”

Shutting his mouth with an audible sound, Bilbo glared at the dwarf. Oh, the nerve of him. He was a Hobbit, for Yavannah’s sake. They did not go to war. Their fighting was limited to words, and here, this bloody dwarf...

“And you must not fear anything, right?” he bit back angrily, “Great Thorin Oakenshield, not scared of losing anything.”

Bilbo had expected a retort, or Thorin stomping away angrily. But to his surprise, a sadness spread on his face, his eyes watery. He let out a humourless chuckle, shaking his head.

“There is nothing more that I could lose. Mahal has already taken everything that I had ever loved. What could I possibly fear?”

With that, Thorin turned and left. Bilbo remained immobile, sitting there, confusion and fear clouding his mind.


	5. Looking past the moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been over a month but I have finally finished WHen the Sun Rises! Yaaay!   
> This has to be the longest chapter in this story up till now, by the way.
> 
> I could not let the New Year begin without an update, so here it is! Happy New year!

The next day it rained.

The rain did not stop all morning, or noon, or evening, or night. It went on and on and by the time the Company stopped to rest, everyone was drenched and cranky and in general absolutely unhappy.

It was Nori who found a cave big enough to house all the creatures- Dwarves and ponies alike. Gandalf had to bend to fit inside, but he did not complain. Bilbo settled down in a corner, hurryingly changing his drenched clothes in favour of some dry ones.

The Dwarves all paraded naked as they changed, and Bilbo found his cheeks turning pink as Bombur walked around proudly showing off his body. Unlike the rest of the Company, he had some dignity left and so he kept himself hidden. But the Dwarves were loud and boisterous and oh so proud of their bodies. Bilbo muttered to himself about the absolute shameless behaviour and walked only once the others had donned new clothes. 

The Princes got the fire going with a few of the wood they had been carrying in their backpack. Bilbo shifted closer to Bombur to help him cook. It was awkward, but not until he had to see Thorin naked.

Now, Bilbo was not extremely fond of the Dwarf king. He was rude and irritating, and very snappish. He sure could do learning a few manners and treating others with respect.

But when Bilbo’s eyes landed on Thorin’s naked body, he had to grab the flask from Bofur’s hands and finish the whole thing in one go. His throat was just that dry.

By Hobbit standards, Thorin was not very good-looking. He did not have a round stomach like Bombur’s or a good amount of hair on his feet. His chest was far too scarred and his long hair with braids was not very appealing. However, nobody had passed that knowledge to Bilbo’s heart, since it was insistent on beating erratically.

Thorin discarded his tunic easily, not at all ashamed of his toned body or broad chest. There were scars littering all around but he was not shy of showing them off. When he pulled down his breeches, Bilbo at once looked away, trying to hide the pink on his cheeks. But from the corner of his eyes, he could see the lower halves of his legs and they were well toned.

Now that Bilbo paid attention, his face was not too bad to look at either. True, he had facial hair but it was not quite as full as the other dwarves. It made him look somewhat manlike, but not in a bad way. His hair was not full of braids, mostly open with just two braids, and they stood out like fireflies on a night when the sky was full of stars. They weren’t necessary but made the night so much more better.

“Enjoying the show?”

Bilbo yelped and jumped, only to get a cackling Bofur behind him. He glared at the dwarf but pushed away his anger as Bofur helped him back on his feet.

“Quite a view, aye?” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” muttered Bilbo, ignoring the heat on his cheeks. He added the spices to the stew, ignoring the knowing looks all around him. Bombur giggled and when Bilbo dared to look up, Nori had the most cat-like grin. Bilbo ignored them all, focusing on the task in hand.

“What are we talking about?” asked Ori, pulling himself close and rubbing his hands.

Nori grinned, “Bilbo likes Thorin.”

“I- I do not!”

He did not like Thorin! No, sir, he did not. The Dwarf had a harsh tongue and far too poor an idea on how to talk to people. Too proud, too arrogant. No, no, Bilbo had no interest in Thorin Oakenshield.

No. He did not.

“Thorin?” Ori asked dubiously, “What, why? He is not that attractive.”

Bofur hummed, “Who is then, Ori dear?”

Ori spluttered, turning pink, “Well, nobody.”

“You sure?” Nori elbowed his brother, “you don’t have eyes fixed for a certain prince, do ya?”

“No!” Ori said defensively, crossing his arms, “I don’t have my eyes fixed on anyone! I am just saying that Thorin is not that appealing to look at.”

Bilbo had accepted more teasing, but instead, he was met with a somewhat sad look from Dori, “Well, he is not now. Some fifty years ago he was the most beautiful Dwarf in all of Ered Luin. Time has been harsh on our poor king.”

“Really?” Ori asked, frowning, “Master Thorin?”

“Aye,” surprisingly, that was Nori, “Do ya remember Bofur? Oh, how much lads and lasses flailed over him.”

In turn, Bofur turned his voice high pitched and began to flail his arms, “ ‘Oh, did you see Master Thorin? Oh, his hair, it’s so long and broad. Look at those braids. A proud Durin. Oh, look at his scars! Listen to his voice!’ A daily thing in the market.”

“What’s going on here?”

Thorin's voice had everyone scurrying around. Nori began to whistle as Bilbo and Bombur focused on the stew in hand. Dori began to fuss over Ori’s hair while Bofur pressed his arms behind him, trying to look innocent, “Nothing, yer Majesty.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, looking around. Nobody looked him in the eye, either too embarrassed or trying to hold in their laughter. Thorin huffed, crossing his arms.

“We are hungry, Bombur.”

“Just done.”

With a nod and a last suspicious look at everyone, Thorin turned and walked over to where Dwalin sat. Bofur sighed, and Nori let out a laugh.

“Well, what happened then?” asked Bilbo.

Dori smiled sadly, “What always happens, Master Baggins. Tragedy.”

Every single Dwarf’s face fell at that. A sense of loss passed through them, a sense that Bilbo truly was not able to grapple at. Ori, the youngest of the group, shared the thought. A realization had dawned on him. Bilbo looked at all of them with a sad gaze- it was something of a loss for the whole community, something that Bilbo was not privy to.

Soon after, bowls of stew were passed around. The warmth spread through each habitant’s body, and despite the continuing weather outside, the dwarves could feel some calm settle into their soul.

After supper, most Dwarves went off to sleep. The princes were the first ones to scurry to their bedrolls, ignoring the looks sent to them by their Uncle. Bilbo bit down his laugh as they covered their eyes and pretended to sleep.

The Ris were next, Dori being insistent that Ori sleep close to him. Nori huffed and sat beside Bofur, talking and grinning as Bifur worked on another toy. It was Dwalin and Gloin’s turn to take watch, and Bilbo was utterly thankful for the same.

His bedroll was close to where the Dwarves sat for the watch. He tried to sleep, but the cold made it hard and Bilbo found himself listening to Gloin and Dwalin’s conversation.

“It’s a pity, aye,” grumbled Gloin, pouting under his beard, “We are too far now.”

“Too far now?” huffed Dwalin, sharpening his axe, “Ye and yer wife are truly wonders.”

“We are One!” Gloin said proudly and sadly, “She owns my every living and sleeping moment. To be far from her not only in my day but also in my night- oh!”

Dwalin rolled his eyes but patted Gloin sympathetically. Gloin whimpered, surprising Bilbo.

Thorin came around after taking a walk settled dow the other side of Dwalin, acknowledging Gloin with a nod.

“All good?”

“So far, aye.”

“Except Gloin’s grumbling,” Dwalin muttered, earning a glare from the older dwarf.

To Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin chuckled. Bilbo was strategically placed, from where none of the three could see him but he had a perfect view of them, and looking at Thorin with some sort of calmness was, well, weird, “What’s the matter Gloin? Weather not to your liking?”

“Something like that,” muttered Gloin, looking down at his pipe.

Dwalin leaned in and faux-whispered to Thorin, “He and Rili can finally not see each other in dreams.”

Turning red, Gloin turned to Dwalin with an offended look. Dwalin merely shook his head. Thorin smiled somewhat sadly, and clapped Gloin on his back, “I know how hard it is, cousin.”

Taken aback, Gloin lost his hold on his tongue, “I, by no means, was complaining, Thorin, you must see, it’s just-”

“To be away from your One is one of the greatest pain to be felt,” Thorin said sadly. Dwalin’s face was neutral, but Bilbo could see the faintest traces of sadness lingering there. Gloin was absolutely shocked as Thorin huffed, shaking his head, “It’s all right. Hold on to the fact that you will see her again.”

“Of course,” whispered Gloin.

They talked on long after that, but after some time, from Westron they slipped to Khudzul. Bilbo frowned, turning so that he faced away from the Dwarves.

Dwalin had said something about a wife, and Gloin had said he saw her in his dreams, only that he could not evermore. Thorin, on the first day they had shared dreams, had said something similar. Of not seeing each other again once a distance was put between them.

Did Dwarves who were married shared dreams? But he and Thorin were most certainly not!

Bilbo’s mind wandered back to the word one. The dwarves were certainly not talking about the number one. The way Gloin said it felt...sacred. Something to be cherished, protected. When Thorin said it, it sounded pained.

Grumbling to himself, Bilbo wondered if he could ask one of the other Dwarves about it. But who would he ask? Bofur and Nori would laugh and tell him wrong things, surely. He doubted Bombur would tell him much. Bifur was, well, not at a position to communicate with Bilbo and Dori would make a fuss. Ori could be persuaded to share some things, but he became as tight-lipped as the others when it came to Dwarven rituals and such.

Bilbo’s eyes landed on Balin and the Princes. Balin was the first warm dwarf to talk to him, and he ould open up. Perhaps he could ask the Princes...they were young, and might spill some secrets more easily...but would they...was the question...

* * *

When Bilbo next opened his eyes, he was surprisingly in the dreamscape. He lay beside the river, closer to the garden. It must be the tiredness that did not bring him nightmares of his past life.

Stretching, Bilbo sat at the riverside, just enjoying the sounds of the river flowing. He washed his feet in the water and drank some of the freshwater too. Happy with the way his dream was going so far, Bilbo walked into the garden and was suitably surprised to find Thorin there.

His sleeves were pulled back, his hair pulled up in a bun. Thorin was bent over one of the flower beds, pulling out the weeds and carefully plucking the rotten or withered leaves. Bilbo was certainly shocked at learning that Thorin knew anything about a garden.

“Are you going to keep staring at me?”

Taken aback at being called out, Bilbo huffed and straightened out his coat, wrinkling his nose, “Well, you must admit its surprising to see you...here.”

Thorin slowly turned back, looking at Bilbo with an unimpressed stare, “Might I remind you it is you who has trespassed into my property?”

“Trespas- Excuse me!” Bilbo put his arms on his waist, glaring at the dwarf, “You presume I know what is happening here. Hobbits do not just, just meet in dreams! You think I have a choice coming here?”

“Do you know anything about this at all?” Thorin asked with a tilt of his head.

Bilbo tried very hard to not focus on that movement because it was not as cute as his mind was making it to be, “I thought we had this conversation the day you came to Bag End. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Thorin huffed and turned back to pulling out the weeds. Bilbo snorted at the rudeness he was offered. He and Thorin Oakenshield were never going to reach any sort of an arrangement, it seemed. He was impossibly proud and quite a bloody pompous, arrogant brat.

Once satisfied, the Dwarf stood up and kicked the weed to a corner. The weed seemed to disappear out of its own free will, making Bilbo blink. Weeds usually did not do that.

But then people also did not usually share dreams.

Thorin pulled back his sleeves and put on his coat, before turning to Bilbo with a frown.

“Since we are stuck with each other for the considerable future,” Thorin said sourly, “it will be wise to clear some things for you.”

“Smart thinking.”

Thorin snorted but did not say anything else. He walked over to the door. Bilbo watched him go, arms crossed.

“Are you not going to come?”

Bilbo spluttered, “Well, aren’t you going to invite?”

Rolling his eyes, Thorin pulled open the door. Bilbo hurriedly walked behind. He would never admit it, but some part of his part was bursting with excitement at whatever could be behind the doors.

Thorin walked on as if he knew the place, which he probably did. Bilbo followed behind the corridor, watching torches lit up on either wall. There were doors and windows at every few steps, but Bilbo could not pause to look around. He noticed how each one was different- some made of wood, others richly decorated with gold and some looking as grand as the doors of a castle. Some of the windows were half-open, and Bilbo could hear voices. He was not sure how the thing worked- were many different dreams connected?

Before he could voice his question, thorin stopped at a door. This one was suitably decorated, with gold geometric patterns running from bottom to up. The knob itself looked made up of silver, and vines seemed to grow around it.

Thorin’s hands were wrapped around the knob. His face held a myriad of expression, but sadness and fondness were perhaps the most prominent ones.

“What I am about to show you is not very personal, but there might be things that none of the others know of,” Thorin explained slowly, his eyes fixed on the door, “Everyone else in the Company already knows of this, and if we are to share more than the physical space, it would be good for you to know certain things.”

Saying so, Thorin pushed open the door. Bright light almost blinded Bilbo. He raised his hand and squinted. It took a moment before Bilbo could focus on the pillars on the other side.

His feet automatically moved forward, and Bilbo found himself drawn to the light.

“You will be left out in the garden as soon as this is done.”

Bilbo turned around with a frown, “Are you not coming?”

Thorin smiled, “I have lived this memory, Master Baggins. I know what happens every single second.”

* * *

_Unlike other times, Bilbo was very well aware of the fact that he was Bilbo. He was not in his dwarven body, with a beard below. He was also invisible to the various other dwarrows around him. He realized that when an elderly Dwarrow bent beside him to pick up the beads from the table._

_He was in a big room, with torches on every wall. There was no natural light in there, as to speak. There were a dresser and a full-length mirror on the side. In front of the mirror, three dwarves stood crowding over a younger dwarf._

_Bilbo got up from the chair he had landed on. He gently walked on, careful as to not make any noise. There were many servants around the room, but none paid him any attention. He was clearly not visible to anyone._

_When Bilbo came around, he gasped. The Dwarf in the centre was none other than Thorin._

_But it was not the Thorin Bilbo knew. This Thorin was young, his eyes shining with hope and pride. His black hair, with not a hint of silver, was intricately braided, and he even hair a beard big enough to part into two braids. He wore rich and fine clothes, blue robes and jewels in his hair, his belt and even his boots._

_One of the Dwarves had bright golden hair and was fussing over Thorin’s hair. The other dwarf had one of his eyes wounded. They were both as finely dressed as Thorin, if not as richly._

“ _Leave him be, Fris,” the raven headed dwarf said to the golden-haired one, “His hair is fine.”_

_The blonde dwarf huffed, pulling back, “If I could only just set this braid right...”_

“ _Amad,” Thorin said gently, putting his hand on the other dwarf’s arm. Bilbo realized that the blonde was a female dwarf. She did not look much different, except perhaps having a sparse beard._

_She finally gave up with a huff. Thorin smiled at her, and her anger melted away. She cupped his face, the bangles jingling in the otherwise quiet of the room._

“ _You have grown so big,” she whispered, brushing her thumb across his cheeks, “To think only yesterday we were chasing you around in nothing.”_

“ _Amad,” groaned Thorin, but the other dwarf laughed._

“ _Aye,” he said with a laugh, before landing a hand on Thorin’s shoulder, “You have made us all proud, my son. I cannot tell you how glad I am to be able to see this day.”_

_Thorin smiled, his cheeks turning a little pink. He held on to both his parents and looked at them gratefully._

_It was the third dwarf, the oldest of them all, who then walked up to Thorin. His white beard flowing way far down and accessories hanging on from everywhere. He looked at Thorin with just as much pride as the other two had._

“ _Grandfather.”_

“ _My boy,” the dwarf said in a gruff voice, “You are truly a wonder. Do not let the nerves overtire you, aye?”_

_Thorin nodded. The Dwarf pulled him close, knocking their heads together. He was soon gone, leaving Thorin alone with his parents._

_The very next moment the door opened, and a young face peeped in. He looked much like Fili, with only a broader face and no moustache braids._

“ _Are you done?” he groaned, “Or does Your Majesty require more time?”_

“ _Frerin!” scolded the mother, but the young dwarf, Frerin, looked unimpressed._

“ _I am ready,” Thorin said, placing a silver crown on his head, “Let’s go.”_

_Frerin hummed, walking aside to let Thorin through. He walked beside Thorin while their parents walked behind, and then followed the soldiers._

_Bilbo did not have to walk as the world moved around him. It was like watching a drama, only in more dimensions._

“ _Birian is ready,” Frerin mentioned offhandedly, but Thorin’s face lit up._

“ _He is?” he asked softly. It was impossible to think that Thorin could sound so gentle, so unsure._

_Frerin nodded, a wide grin on his face, “I did offer him a chance to run away. He surprisingly said no.”_

_As Thorin glared on Frerin, the blond dwarf merely raised an eyebrow, “As his friend, it is my duty to warn him.”_

“ _As my brother, it is also your duty to have my side,” Thorin said, frowning._

_Frerin rolled his eyes, “Well, I did not choose you as my brother. I did choose him as my friend.”_

_Thorin huffed, shaking his head, “Mahal save me.”_

_Patting his back, Frerin said, “Only he can now. Even if he is your One, brother, do not forget who was responsible for half of the adventures in school.”_

_The scene shifted, and Bilbo was suddenly standing beside the Grandfather. He was sitting on the throne and was thus probably the King. Thorin stood a step below, and in front of Thorin stood another dwarf Bilbo had never seen in his life._

_He was smaller than Thorin, but not very short for a Dwarf. His red hair and beard were braided like Thorin’s, almost mirroring his. He wore maroon clothes, but a hint of blue on the borders. His fingers were intertwined with Thorin’s, and both of them had the most foolish and starstruck grin Bilbo had ever seen on anyone._

_They looked even more in love than Bungo and Belladonna._

_Bilbo’s heart lurched as he saw the two. There were many people around, but except for the two of them and the King, nobody else’s face was visible. It was a blur. For the moment, Bilbo could understand what it meant when people said that their eyes were only fixed on their beloved and no one else mattered._

_Despite being just a spectator, Bilbo's heart leapt as he saw the two Dwarves get close. Both Thorin and the other one- Birian, his mind supplied- were looking at each other as if seeing the world. Thorin had perhaps the most foolish grin on his face, something that did not suit him. Birian looked like he was close to crying, but his mouth was split in a wide grin._

_They were speaking, but unlike before Bilbo could not make out the words. It was too quiet, but also in Khudzul. He had a feeling to what they could be saying, but he wasn’t sure. Despite the lack of noise or understanding what was being said, Bilbo’s own heart was soaring. He couldn’t tear away his eyes from Thorin, who was looking at Birian with such adoration._

_When they pressed their heads together, everything blurred into one._

“ _Are you sure about this?” Birian asked. His voice was somewhat like Ori- squeaky, yet heavy. Dwarven but not quite as gruff._

_Thorin snorted, “Isn’t it a little late for that?”_

“ _Well, yes,” he said with little to no hesitance, “But think about it. Not only am I going to haunt your every living moment, but I am going to create havoc in your dreams.”_

_Thorin smiled, pulling him even closer, which Bilbo did not think was possible, “I think I am ready for that.”_

* * *

Bilbo blinked as the garden morphed around him. Thorin, his Thorin- that is, the older Thorin, Thorin Oakenshield, was smoking his pipe.

“That was...” Bulbo shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself, “Well, beautiful.”

“Birian is my One,” Thorin said slowly, his every word weighed down by something more, “He was my One before I knew it, he will remain my One until I die. I married him not out of necessity, but out of love. My heart belongs to him, and is bound by my promise to him.”

When Thorin looked at him, Bilbo felt a shudder go through his spine, “I do not know what Mahal’s plans are, thrusting you into my life now as if anyone could replace him. But we have been forced together, and all I can say is that I have no interest in finding anyone else to fill the void left by my beloved.”

Clearing his throat, Bilbo said, “Well, neither do I, thank you very much.”

Thorin gave a slight nod of his head, going back to his pipe. Bilbo stood there for only a moment, before turning and going back to his river.

He blinked back tears, but he did not know why he cried. If it was what he had seen, or the tears of loss, or perhaps something else entirely.

Just as he the garden was about to disappear from his view, Bilbo turned to look at Thorin. For the first time, he saw what truly hid behind the Dwarf leader- a broken soul, harbouring the loss of his soulmate. Someone who had built a wall around himself.

Bilbo was not sure what to do next.

  
  



End file.
